Tag: Mexican
Boss Sauce
If tamales are on your agenda, doña sauce should be, too. Ubiquitous throughout Austin taquerias, high-end and low-brow, every plate is splashed with a shock of green salsa, clearly different from the rest. So commonplace that its absence is more notable than its presence, it didn’t even occur to me that it was a specific local phenomenon, invented just 20 years ago. More than just another salsa verde, salsa doña has secured a cult following without even trying.
What Is Doña Sauce, AKA Salsa Doña?
Invented by Bertha Gonzales while working at Tacodeli, it handily won an in-store salsa competition to snag a $30 prize. Given a Spanish honorific title out of respect, it became the signature flavor of this burgeoning chain, eventually being packaged for nationwide distribution. The amount of doña sauce being made everyday to meet the demand is staggering, to the tune of 60 pounds of jalapeños per individual taco shop, per day, to say nothing of commercial production.
Unforgettable Flavor
Built upon the smoky char of roasted jalapeños, garlic, and cilantro, such a simple foundation belies its complexity. Thick, rich, and creamy, it looks alarmingly like some dairy amalgamation at first, but that distinctive texture is all thanks to emulsified oil, much like an eggless aioli dip. Moderately spicy and somehow simultaneously cooling, brilliantly fresh and herbaceous, it’s hard to believe that this sensation comes together with only six common ingredients.
I Put That Sh*t on Everything
Tamales, tacos, burritos, nachos, queso, soups, burgers, wraps, sandwiches, salads, rice, refried beans… Stop me anytime, because the list of possible uses for salsa doña is truly endless. Anything that needs a little kick, regardless of the cuisine, is a prime candidate. The only thing I’d suggest not putting it on is your toothbrush, but then, you do you.
Often Imitated, Never Replicated
Tacodeli doña sauce copycat recipes abound. I don’t claim mine to be the most authentic since I wasn’t trying to recapture that lightning in a bottle. Instead, my version is inspired by the revered matriarch, leaning more heavily on the garlic and cilantro than other comparable renditions. Likewise, make it your own, dialing the ingredients up or down to taste. If you’d like yours hotter, leave the seeds in the jalapeños. Whatever you do, don’t let you tamales go naked. Especially when you’ve gone through the trouble of making such an important, labor-intensive holiday staple, they deserve the very best salsa to dress for the occasion.
Wordless Wednesday: Nixta Taqueria
Sikil P’aak
Cauliflower Taco
Sweet Potato Taco
Beet “Tartare” Tostada
Peace Cheese
Paletas
Nixta Taqueria
2512 E 12th St.
Austin, TX 78702
Wordless Wednesday: Bar Verde
The Abuelito
Smoked Huitlacoche Croquetas
Maitake Tempura Tacos
Huitlacoche Flautas
Hearts of Palm Ceviche
Guey Mojito
Bar Verde
65 2nd Street
New York, NY 10003
Macha, Macha, Wo/Man
I distinctly remember my first encounter with salsa macha because it was a completely confounding experience. Staring at this strange, violently red jar of oily seeds, it was introduced to me as “seed salsa.” Up to that point, “salsa” had only been used to describe mixtures of finely minced vegetables, sometimes fruits, accompanying Mexican food. Usually tomato-based, fresh and punchy, I couldn’t connect the dots between that condiment and this one.
Taking the tiniest spoonful to test the waters, I watched rivulets of glistening toasted seeds ooze down my plate, soaking into everything it touched. One bite, and I was hooked. Instantly regretting that timid serving, I bellied up to the bar again and again, dousing my entire meal until my lips tingled and my nose turned red from the heat. It’s the good kind of pain the unlocks all sorts of endorphins, creating an undeniably addictive experience.
The allure owes something about the combination of textures and tastes, with toothsome, crunchy seeds tumbled together in this slick miasma of fiery, nutty, tangy oil. It doesn’t sound like it should work on paper, but it exceeds all expectations in real life. Suspend doubt long enough to give it a try, stop trying to put it to words; you’ll understand in an instant.
What is salsa macha?
Consider it Mexican chili crisp; spicy, savory, and impossibly addictive. Salsa macha is an oil-based condiment that goes with just about everything. It was born in the Mexican states of Veracruz and Oaxaca. As one might guess, the name is derived from the feminine version of “macho,” resulting in gender ambiguity, and its base recipe is ripe for tweaking.
Naturally, I had to take my rendition in a completely inauthentic direction that most people would say has gone off the rails. Sorry, not sorry. It all started with an extra bottle of everything bagel seasoning, when I realized that half the ingredients I needed were all neatly bundled together within. Why not take that idea and run with it? Thus, Everything Bagel Salsa Macha was born.
Most salsa macha recipes are at least slightly blended after cooking, but I wanted mine totally chunky and extra crunchy. You could always pulse the mixture briefly in the food processor to break it down a bit, or completely puree it for a smoother sauce. Make it your own! The only rules for salsa macha is that it must contain chilies, seeds, nuts, and oil. Everything else is up for interpretation.
How can you use salsa macha?
Basically, anything edible is a viable canvas for this chunky, seedy salsa. A few of my favorites and top suggestions for this particular variation include:
- Bagel with cream cheese
- Avocado toast
- Tofu scramble
- Hummus
- Pizza
- Pasta
- Rice pilaf
- Grilled or roasted vegetables
Like some of the best things in life, the flavors in salsa macha continue to develop and deepen over time. It’s fantastic right away, enjoyed while still warm, but continues to improve over the coming days. Don’t try to keep it too long, though; the garlic and seeds prevent it from keeping longer than 1 – 2 weeks in the fridge without turning rancid. Of course, that deadline is unlikely to pose a problem. I can barely keep a jar around for more than three days.
The Whole Enchilada
Enchiladas, like so many brilliant culinary innovations, date back to the ancient Mayans. Corn was plentiful, which gave rise to the fundamental, unassailable corn tortilla. Of course, they were called tlaxcalli at the time, later changed by Spanish conquistadors who couldn’t pronounce the word and forever changed the course of history. While tacos might seem like the most obvious use, a strong argument could be made that enchiladas were the first tortilla-based delicacy written into the annals of history. Originally, the dish consisted of nothing more than empty corn tortillas, rolled for a compact bite, and dipped in chili sauce. Before they were ever fried or filled, people have found these edible vessels worthy within their own rights.
Thus, I present to you an entirely controversial proposal: Try taking the tortilla out of the enchilada.
I promise, that’s not a hypothetical request or an impossible riddle. It occurred to me early on in the pandemic, when grocery deliveries were more akin to a new episode of Chopped, bringing with it a new mystery basket each week. Pasta has always been essential, but the exact form it would take was a bit of a wild card. Not a problem if you’re swapping ziti for penne, but giant manicotti tubes instead of pastina? Something was lost in translation on that exchange. Having never made manicotti before, those jumbo cylinders sat in the pantry for quite some time.
While I may be old, I certainly wasn’t around when the Mayans were creating this ground-breaking food, so my association with enchiladas is more strongly linked to the sauce and filling. One day, craving something with Mexican flair but lacking the traditional nixtamalized base, I came across that Italian staple just waiting for a purpose, and had this wild idea. Why smother them in plain red sauce when we could spice things up a bit?
Thus, Enchilada Manicotti were born. Perfect for a fiesta, family dinner, or cozy night in, the chewy pasta casing is stuffed with high-protein soyrizo and drowned in piquant enchilada sauce. Arguably easier than the contemporary take on this dish, you don’t need to worry about finicky tortillas cracking or unrolling in the oven. After a bit of assembly, you can take the rest of the night off, since it pretty much cooks itself.
Try a few different twists to make this formula your own:
- Tender cubes of buttery gold potatoes add more heft to the filling, but this could be a great opportunity to sneak in other veggies, like riced cauliflower, diced zucchini, corn kernels, diced bell peppers, or a combination of your favorites.
- Add shredded vegan cheese to the filling and/or topping, if you want to increase the richness and crave-worthy goo-factor.
- Go all-out and make everything from scratch, including your own soyrizo, enchilada sauce, and sour cream for a real show-stopper of an entree that will impress all your friends and relatives.
- Swap the red enchilada sauce for mole or chile verde sauce when you want a flavorful change of pace.
What can you serve with Enchilada Manicotti?
Both enchiladas and manicotti are ideal complete meals in and of themselves, needing no additional flourishes to completely satisfy. However, there are still plenty of complementary accompaniments you can consider to round out your plate:
- Green salad or cabbage slaw
- Yellow rice or cilantro rice
- Black beans, pinto beans, or refried beans
- Pico de gallo or your favorite salsa
- Sliced avocado or guacamole
- Tortilla chips
Is it Ital-ican, or maybe Mex-alian? Honestly, neither really capture the free spirit and full flavor of this dish. I’m perfectly satisfied to call it “delicious” and leave it at that. No matter what, you’ll want to leave room for a second helping.